


Good or Bad?

by JantoJones



Series: Brief Briefings [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is not at peace with his own actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good or Bad?

The candle burned slowly, with a pale orange flame, in the still desert air. For THRUSH operative, Marcus Wells, the wax was melting far too quickly for his liking. From what he could estimate, he had about twenty minutes before the dynamite at his feet exploded. He'd been tied to a fence-post, with the dynamite taped to his ankles. The fuse ran from his feet to the base of the candle, where it was threaded through to meet the wick. A slight breeze blew across the flame, causing it to sputter but, despite Wells' rising hopes, the candle continued to burn.

"I thought you were meant to be one of the good guys," he yelled to the figure, who was standing just far enough away to be safe. "I've already told you what you wanted to know. I doubt Waverly or Solo would let you do this!"

"They are not here," Illya Kuryakin calmly called back. "There is only me."

Leaning on the hood of his car, Illya watched the panic rise in Wells. He took no pleasure in what he was doing to the man, but he felt absolutely justified in his actions. Of course, he wasn't the callous bastard he was making himself out to be, and he wouldn't allow the dynamite to explode. That would be outright murder. Wells wasn't to know this however. He'd heard about the Russian's ruthlessness, and one look into the steely eyes had been testament enough for the THRUSH man.

From inside his pocket, Illya's communicator chirruped for attention.

"Kuryakin."

"You did it partner mine," the voice of Napoleon Solo informed him. "The information you got was genuine, and the operation is being shut as we speak."

"Was it on time?"

"Barely. They were about an hour away from releasing the poison into the water supply."

Illya allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you Napoleon. I shall see you back in New York."

He tucked the communicator away and walked back to Wells. On the way, he scooped up a handful of dirt, and used it to smother the candle flame. His captive gave an audible sigh of relief. Pulling out his gun and his knife, Illya set about releasing Wells.

"There is a town about a mile to the North," he told the bewildered man. "You are very lucky that I am one of the good guys. I could very happily kill you where you stand, but that would make me like you. I suggest you leave, before my previous training reasserts itself."

The expression on Illya's face left Wells with little doubt as to the validity of the words. Walking away as fast as he could, without breaking into a run, he got as far away from the mad Russian as quickly as he was able. He expected a bullet in his back at any moment, but it never came.

After waiting until Wells was nothing but a speck in the distance, Illya climbed into his car and headed for home. On the way, he would work out how to phrase his report. Mr Waverly had no issues with using certain 'persuasions', to get information, but what he had done was tantamount to psychological torture. It didn't sit too comfortably on his own conscience and, although the outcome was positive, he knew he would have to answer for the actions. If he reported them.


End file.
